


Dreams Are What You Make Them

by JTHM_Michi



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Gen, Hale Family Feels, Sandman!Stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-10
Updated: 2013-02-10
Packaged: 2017-11-28 21:37:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/679136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JTHM_Michi/pseuds/JTHM_Michi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles is a sandman and just wants to give Derek good dreams, why is that so difficult?</p>
<p>Otherwise known as: That one fic I wrote for Saucery when she wanted something with Stiles watching over Derek's dreams.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dreams Are What You Make Them

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Saucery](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saucery/gifts).



It's not something that Stiles does very much anymore, not since his mother left. (And he thinks of it as leaving, because it's not exactly easy to kill them, not unless they consent to it. And he knows, knows that she went back to where the sand pools, leaving them. He just wishes he knew what frightened her back to that place.) He used to do it all the time for Scott and Lydia - give them dreams of ponies and cookies and equations on parade; soft blues and purples and gentle words for Lydia and hugs for Scott. But not anymore. 

Until now. 

He hadn't even meant to do it, really, it was honestly an accident. But Derek looks so tired all the time and it doesn't take a genius to know he must have bad dreams. Who wouldn't, with his life? He hadn't even been meaning to try and soothe Derek, he'd just gone to bed tossing and turning and thinking about how very, very bad it was that the only Alpha werewolf that doesn't want to kill half the town was having sleep problems and bam. That was apparently enough. 

Derek dreamed that night of his little sister - had she lived she'd be starting sixth grade this year, Jesus. But Derek didn't dream of her like that, he dreamed of her small and smiley and giggling. Tugging at Derek's shirt, demanding his attention. He dreamed of her as she was at five or six years old and at first it was a nice dream. 

Until little Sophia Hale caught fire for no reason, screaming that Derek had killed her, reaching for him as he stood there dumbly, pain and horror on his face. Her little hand clamped down on his jacket and she screamed at him, called him a murderer, and Stiles woke up suddenly with ash on his tongue and sobbing. 

And after that he doesn't have much of a choice. He has to soothe Derek's dreams, he has to, what else can he possibly do? He spends the next day weaving the sand, calling it up in ways that he hasn’t for years. School becomes a background buzz as he concentrates on patterns and twisting sand into chains and ropes. He doesn’t think about how falling into Derek’s dream was like sinking into warm water after a long day, like coming home, like breathing. He doesn’t think about how easy it was, how the sand shoots out of his hands and rushes off without him directing it to where it should go, doesn’t think about how this is too simple for him to do. He doesn’t think about how Scott doesn’t ask him what has him so distracted, that he’s too distracted by Allison and Isaac to notice that Stiles isn’t all there. 

That night he folds himself together and closes his eyes and breathes. Falling into Derek’s dream is just as simple tonight as it was the first time and this time it’s Laura and Derek, sitting in a tree, and watching the sun rise. 

“This is nice, isn’t it?” Laura says quietly, leaning on Derek’s shoulder. He hums and everything is soft and content. Peaceful in a way that Stiles hasn’t felt in someone’s dreams since his mother was here. 

“I miss you.” Derek murmurs into Laura’s hair after some time has passed. The sky has changed to a bold gold and blazing red, with some blue and purple mixed in. Stiles wonders if it’s supposed to be a sunset and not a sunrise they’re watching and then decides it doesn’t really matter. 

“I missed everyone, our pack. It’s such a pity that you let a hunter destroy our entire family, for what? Because she batted her pretty little eyes at you?” Laura says quietly and Stiles feels more then hears Derek whine.

A small trickle of blood is running down Laura’s leg, drops falling to the forest floor and Stiles smells sorrow – the heavy sent of his grandmother’s cloying perfume – start to overpower the dream. He clutches his sand, pulling at it and twisting the chains into different patterns, pushing happiness and safety into the pieces. 

The blood vanishes and Laura snuggles more into Derek’s side, nuzzling his neck. 

“I love you, you know. It’s not...I shouldn’t have said that.” She whispers. 

“It’s true.” Derek says back, white grief coming out of his mouth with the words. Stiles used to think grief would be black or dark blue, but it makes more sense that it’s white – it would be materialized as the absence of something, the utter starkness and bleakness of the world, rather than something rich and full like black or blue.

Stiles breathes green into his sand, watching the color race across strands and lengths of chains and ropes that sink into every corner and surface of this dream, this landscape that he’s desperately trying to control. Laura pulls away from Derek, taking his face in her hands, forcing him to look at her. 

“No.” She says, eyes flashing red. “I’m still your Alpha and I say no.” 

The sand breaks apart, explodes outward and snaps him back into the waking world. 

“Fuck.” Stiles bites out. 

He can’t get to Derek’s dreams for a few days after that. Meaning either Stiles destroyed the path with that stunt he pulled or Derek has been so spooked he hasn’t slept at all. He’s not sure which is more likely at this point. He spins sand into ropes and yarn and breathes patterns and colors into them, presses Laura’s smile into places and his mother’s scent into others. He didn’t know Mrs. Hale, but hopefully his memory of his own mother will invoke Derek’s memory of his. 

Isaac and Scott talk about Doctor Who at lunch and Stiles pulls their voices – excited and happy and puppyish – and puts them into his sand, using them to smooth out the ropes. He tucks the memory of Erica’s smile into a weak chain link while he’s at it before breaking into the discussion to rant about how much Rose Tyler’s leaving destroyed him while Amy and Rory leaving just made him sad. Which, of course, starts an argument that gets Isaac’s eyes to glow and Scott to start growling, but it’s totally worth it. 

That night is once again a no show of Derek’s dreams and Stiles folds memories of Boyd into his sand, strengthening chain links and finds that he needs more length. He twists more sand into the already existing strands and thinks of family and security and good memories and hopes that it’s enough. 

The next night, Derek dreams of the Hale House. It smells like jasmine and cinnamon and everything is soft and warm. Stiles wanders the halls, touching walls and chairs and doors. Sophia Hale runs threw him at one point, shrieking that Damian has stolen her dolls. It takes Stiles a moment to remember that Damian is one of the cousins, that he had been a little younger than Derek was at the time of the fire. 

Laura is in the living room, feet tucked under her, watching television. She’s in her twenties, as she had been for the last dream, hair swept up into a ponytail. Sitting next to her is a woman with short hair and Derek’s nose, wearing a t-shirt and jeans, no socks. She laughs suddenly, her whole body heaving with it, and it sounds glorious. This is obviously Mrs. Hale, it can be no one else, and Stiles is transfixed on her. He imagined…he’s not sure, really. Something different, longer hair perhaps? She looks nothing like Laura, her hair is red for one thing and…but no, that’s definitely Derek’s nose. And little Sophia has her smile. 

He takes a step closer and suddenly, everything is on fire. Sophia is screaming somewhere, Laura is roaring, and Mrs. Hale is little more than burning flesh and the edges of his vision are whiting out, the grief too much and Stiles franticly pulls his sand, willing it everywhere, trying to put the flames out, to put some color back into the dream.

But everything is white and Derek…

Derek’s crying, Stiles can feel him, he’s crying and Stiles can’t do anything to help him. 

He wakes up with tears on his face and aches for his mother: she’d know how to help Derek, she’d know how to soothe his dreams. 

His sand isn’t destroyed this time, just frayed and burnt. It’s four in the morning but Stiles works anyway, twisting the chains away to make more rope. The chains were a mistake, hunters used chains, rope was much safer to use. He tucks safety and hope and love and happiness into his sand, twists patterns into it, using Isaac’s small smile and Erica’s voice to repair frayed segments. Scott’s face and Boyd’s roar repair the burnt segments of rope and a memory of Lydia dragging Allison somewhere, arms linked, gets tucked away into it, folded next to soft blue and sharp yellow. Jackson’s smirk gets pushed into his sand, making it thick and coiling. His sand is brittle now, but strong and long, and he pushes the memory of Mrs. Hale laughing into it next. Laura’s ‘I love you’ gets coated along the outside, softening it even more. 

His sand is soft, long, and colorful, full of everything good that Stiles could hope to ever give Derek Hale. He runs his fingers along it and hopes it’s enough, wants it to be enough. The ropes pulse under his fingers and he hopes they’re enough. 

Derek goes almost an entire week without dreaming. Stiles frets the whole time and even resorts to asking Isaac if Derek’s okay, which gets him a weird look from Scott and a non-answer from Isaac. His sand rumbles each night, pulsing as if it’s angry, which is ridiculous and frightening. 

But finally, Derek dreams. Stiles feels his ropes spring into action, taking root in the dream and Stiles somehow feels as if this is his last chance at this. It’s the Hale House again, bright and warm and filled with people and color. Sophia is playing with her dolls in the living room, a boy that must be Damian is playing with her, while Laura and Mrs. Hale watch television. Stiles knows the kitchen has Peter and Mr. Hale in it and he can feel other people, other children even, in other rooms throughout the house. 

“Laura, come tell Derek he’s being pathetic!” Erica whines, coming in and collapsing next to Laura on the couch, looking up at her beseechingly. She’s wearing some really nice boots, a pair of jeans, and a blue shirt with buckles on the sleeves. No leather jacket in sight and instead of her now signature red lipstick, she’s got a soft blue gloss on with matching eye shadow. 

“What’s he doing now?” Laura asks, looking upwards, as if she could see Derek through the ceiling. 

“He’s arguing with Scott, Isaac, and Neville over Narnia. Narnia, Laura! Our second in command is a giant nerd; I can’t deal with this madness!” Erica complains loudly. She’s resting her head on Laura’s shoulder and Stiles realizes that Laura is her Alpha, not Derek. Mrs. Hale laughs and Erica pouts in her direction. 

“It’s not funny, Hale-mama! I can’t be seen with them, they’re nerds.” Erica huffs. 

“Weren’t you and Stiles just arguing over Batman versus Nightwing last night?” Laura asks incredulously. 

“That’s different!” Erica protests and before Stiles can help himself he finds himself talking.

“How so?” he wonders, genuinely curious. Erica rounds on him, not letting go of Laura.

“It just is!” She snaps, before turning back to Laura. Stiles’ mouth drops open, not because of the answer, but because Erica could see him. He was in Derek’s dream. That…that hadn’t been in his plan, to be in Derek’s dream. He was just going to soothe it, get it be happier, not participate. He’s about to work himself into a fit over it when a little tug on his pants draws his attention downwards. Sophia is smiling up at him, holding a Barbie with hacked off hair up towards him, and clearly expecting him to play with her. He folds himself down to sit next to her in a daze and takes the doll she passes to him. 

“She’s a princess-wolf and Damien is playing a knight who is coming to save her from the dragon. My dolly is the dragon.” She explains in the most serious voice he has ever heard from a child her age. He nods dumbly at her and hears Erica continue to complain about Derek to Laura. 

And that’s the dream that plays out. He plays dollies with Sophia, Erica hangs off Laura’s arm first complaining about Derek and then talking about school, Boyd comes in at some point asking Mrs. Hale (or, as the pack is calling her “Hale-mama”) if he can go get Lydia and Jackson from somewhere and Erica bounces off the couch after him, calling out a brief goodbye. Isaac and Scott come down, excited and bouncing in place, explaining that Allison is back from San Francisco and can they pretty please go see her, they promise they’ll be good. At that point Derek himself comes down and Damian throws a fit about not wanting to play anymore, that dolls are stupid and he’s much to old to be playing with them, causing Sophia to start crying and Mrs. Hale to growl at Damian. He gets sent to the kitchen, for a lecture no doubt, and Derek sits down with Sophia and Stiles and says he’ll play with her. 

“You’re not too big?” Sophia hiccups after asking and Stiles reaches out and wipes at her face gently. Derek smiles at her and it’s the softest expression Stiles has ever seen on Derek’s face. 

“I’ll never be too big to play with you.” 

The dream stays warm and soft and colorful and when Stiles wakes up, he feels hollowed out and he can’t even cry, through he really wants to. He wonders if Derek will ever be that happy awake. 

He doesn’t think so.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this back in December and haven't really thought of any more to it. It was up on my tumblr and now it's here too. There's no more of it, I'm afraid.


End file.
